


Mob Mentality

by BabyStepsAreStillSteps



Category: The Dead Zone (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Johnny Smith needs a hug, Johnny and Walt are bros and no one can convince me otherwise, Post Episode: s2e10 Dead Men Tell Tales, post ep, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyStepsAreStillSteps/pseuds/BabyStepsAreStillSteps
Summary: Walt watched Johnny storm out of the interrogation room in shock.Walt hadn't even truly pressed him on anything, and he was yelling that Walt could go to hell? Something was wrong here, there was a puzzle piece Walt was missing, and that was a dangerous situation to be in when dealing with the mob.With an exasperated sigh he pulled out his phone to call his wife and try to explain why he was missing dinner for the third night this week because ofherformer fiancé.How was this his life?
Relationships: Walt Bannerman & Johnny Smith
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Summer_Meadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summer_Meadows/gifts).



> Hi! 
> 
> When my little sister and I watched ‘Dead Men Tell Tales’, we were a little baffled by the ending. 
> 
> Our first issue was that Johnny can just yell at the sheriff, tell him to go to hell, clearly imply he's leaving something out of his statement, and then leave with no consequences?
> 
> The other problem we had was, why was Johnny that mad at Walt in the first place? It seemed really disproportional to the situation. Walt was honestly pretty nice and polite considering Johnny got himself mixed up in a mob war and then tried to handle it on his own.
> 
> We talked about it for a while, and then my little sister lovingly bullied me into writing this for her to explain it, so this is our explanation.

Johnny pulled up to his house as the sun set, annoyed to see the sheriff’s patrol car waiting for him on his driveway.

Johnny could feel his temper flaring as he put his Jeep in park and roughly pulled the keys out of the transmission, getting out and closing his car door with more force than necessary.

  
His mood darkened even further as Walt got out of his car as well.

  
Johnny stormed past him without acknowledgment, shoving his key into the lock and throwing the door open, slamming it shut just as quickly when he got into the house. He did not have patience for this after almost fifteen hours in the station, a confrontation with Sonny, and a deal with a mob boss for his services. All he wanted to do was go inside, eat a snack, go to sleep, and not think about Walt Bannerman.

  
He punched his alarm code in with more force than necessary and stomped down the hall to the kitchen, throwing his bag to the side without caring where it landed.

  
Behind him, he heard the door opening and softly closing again, as Walt evidently decided to let himself in. What in Johnny’s body language or actions had invited that action he didn’t know, but he hoped the sheriff was smart enough to turn around and leave without a confrontation.

  
Johnny slammed into the kitchen, crossing to the cabinet to get a glass of water, but the movement of suddenly looking up sent the room dizzily spinning around him and he dropped his reaching hand to the countertop instead.

  
He knew he should have stopped to eat as soon as he left the station, but confronting Elliman had seemed more important, and then he’d been shanghaied by the mob, _again_.

  
Behind him, Walt followed him into the room, his footsteps hesitant and uneasy.

  
“You have a warrant?” Johnny asked icily without turning to look at him, gripping the countertop to stop the room from swaying.

  
“Do I need one?” Walt asked, sounding vaguely hurt. “I thought I was welcome in my friend’s house.”

  
Johnny spun to face him.

  
“Is that what we are?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow in question, his voice cold and hard.

  
Walt looked visibly taken aback

  
“Well, yeah,” he said, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. “Why else would I put up with all the stupid you spill everywhere?”

  
“If you’re here to finish your interrogation you’ll have to either wait ‘till tomorrow or book me,” Johnny sneered, completely ignoring Walt’s previous statement.

  
“John,” Walt gently scolded, “I’m not here to interrogate you.”

  
“Good,” Johnny said sharply. “Then get out.”

  
“I...” Walt looked unsure of what to do in the face of Johnny’s unrelenting anger. “I came to check on you,” he admitted finally.

  
“Cool,” Johnny dismissed. “Here I am. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on skipping town.”

  
“Johnny, man,” Walt looked at him in concern and took a small step closer, “that’s not why I’m worried,” he finished earnestly.

  
“Oh really?” Johnny asked scathingly. “And what is it exactly you’re worried about?”

  
Walt stared at him like he was being purposefully dense before he decided it was a legitimate question.

  
“You, man,” he said simply. “I’m worried about you. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  
Johnny scoffed, looking to the side and crossing his arms defensively.

  
“There’s a lot I’m not telling you. Want to know why the sky is blue?”

  
“No,” Walt shot back, an edge of annoyance entering his voice as he took another step towards Johnny. “I want to know why you know who did it and why and you’re not telling me!”

  
“Because the last time I tried to tell you about Stillson, you said not to come back until I had cold, hard evidence, and I don’t!” Johnny yelled, pushing off the counter he was leaning on to take an angry step toward Walt, bringing them face to face.

  
“All I have are visions of Sonny Elliman making back room deals with the mob via Nina, and almost raping her when she told him he wasn’t what she wanted!

  
That’s why Mickey tried to shoot Donnegal. Sonny told Nina that Donnegal said he could have her for the night, whether she wanted him or not. Mickey beat Sonny and took her home. They talked about how all she wants to do is go home to St. Paul, but she’s trapped servicing men in the mob because she used to fight with her mother a decade ago and ran away. Is that what you wanted me to tell you?

  
You had me in the interrogation room, being recorded on police record, I’m not bringing the political golden boy into this when I don’t have a shred of proof! I would have told you if we weren’t on record and if you didn’t shut me down every time I so much as say Stillson’s name, but I’m sure as hell not swearing on our son’s life in the middle of the station!”

  
Walt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  
“I’m sorry, John, I just didn’t...”

  
“Think?” Johnny supplied in a cutting tone, obviously still frustrated over the ordeal.

  
“Yeah, I didn’t think. All I saw was you getting mixed up with the mob, and not telling me everything, and me coming to check on you one day and finding you with a bullet in your brain. These people are dangerous, Johnny, and you have the self-preservation instincts of a toddler.”

  
Johnny stared at him for a long minute, staring into Walt’s soul as he assessed his answer.

  
“I have the instincts of at least a five year old,” Johnny said eventually, the forgiveness and apology of his own clear in his tone.

  
Walt relaxed, taking a deep breath and letting a smile spread across his face as things got back to as close to normal as they could get where Johnny Smith was involved.

  
“I was being generous,” Walt told him teasingly, “the instincts of a newborn infant is probably more accurate.”

  
“Shut up,” Johnny grumbled with a grin.

  
“Just statin’ facts,” Walt drawled with a cheeky smile.

  
Johnny chuckled, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

  
“You ok, Johnny?” Walt asked in concern, registering how bad his friend looked for the first time in the conversation.

  
“Fine,” Johnny grunted unconvincingly. “Got a headache.”

  
Walt nodded and moved around the kitchen, gathering a Tylenol and a glass of ice water for the other man, who took them both gratefully and collapsed into a chair.

  
“Are you hurt?” Walt asked, wondering why he hadn’t checked the instant Johnny came into the station.

  
Johnny shook his head where it rested on his hand.

  
“Just a lot of visions,” he explained without raising his head. “Do you know how many people have sat in that chair? It’s a lot to handle without food, it just caught up to me.”

  
“Without food?” Walt repeated.

  
Johnny shrugged. “I had breakfast yesterday. Skipped lunch to follow the lead, got picked up by you guys before dinner. Apparently it’s policy not to give prisoners food or water, it caught up to me.”

  
“They didn’t give you food or water?” Walt demanded, appalled.

  
Johnny shook his head.

  
“I asked. I know there’s those bagels in the break room, but he said that I wouldn’t be getting food or water until he was happy with my answers, and he was never happy with my answers,” Johnny finished with a helpless shrug.

  
“What?” Walt asked in a deadly voice.

  
Johnny glanced up at him, looked for a moment and his shoulders came down a little more.

  
“Oh,” he said, a relieved exhaustion under his voice, “you really didn’t know.”

  
“I didn’t know?” Walt parroted back in disbelief. “Johnny, of course I didn’t know! You think I’d just sit there and let them starve you into compliance if I knew?”

  
“Well, no, I didn’t, but then you came in and said you’d been watching and I did ask several times for both food and water, so...” he trailed off looking mildly apologetic while Walt stared at him in horror. Suddenly so much more of the day made sense.

  
“No, Johnny,” he said, aghast. “No, I didn’t, I promise I didn’t know that. I wasn’t even notified when they first brought you in. We agreed to give them an interrogation room and conference room to set up in when they first got here.

  
Roscoe called me and told me they’d brought you in. He was delivering papers and saw you through the one-way and then went straight to my office to call me to demand to know what they were doing. It was news to me, so I came in early and sat in the viewing room just in time to see you stonewalling them, and then I came in the room with you. We didn’t know, man.”

  
“Oh,” Johnny said again, slumping further onto his hand propping up his head as he quickly lost steam.

  
“Johnny, I’m sorry,” Walt said sincerely, moving to sit across from the psychic.

  
“Pfft,” Johnny waved off, flapping a hand at Walt in exhaustion. “It’s not your fault if you didn’t know.”

  
“Johnny,” Walt said in concern, watching his friend droop still further until his head rested on his arm laying on the table. “Are you ok? Do you need a hospital?”

  
“No,” he muttered, shaking his head without lifting it, “I’m fine, Walt, it’s ok. You can go home if you want, I’m just going to sit here until I have the energy to make food and then go to bed for at least fifty hours.”

  
“I’ll make you food,” Walt said firmly, standing and moving to the pantry before Johnny could protest.

  
He opened the pantry door and surveyed the selection as Johnny muddled through his response.

  
Johnny hadn’t eaten in over a day, so solids were out, but, aha! He did have some tomato soup tucked in the back. Perfect.

  
Walt grabbed it and shut the pantry just as his answer registered with Johnny, who tried to push himself up, a mumbled protest on his lips.

  
Walt paused as he crossed the kitchen to rest a light hand on Johnny’s head, barely exerting any pressure, but successfully keeping him in place.

  
“Stay,” Walt said firmly, making sure Johnny was done trying to get up before he removed his hand and continued on to the kitchen counter.

  
“I’m fine, Walt,” Johnny insisted, looking at him through cracked eyes. “It just caught up to me, I’ll be fine in a minute,” he slurred.

  
“Uh, huh,” Walt said, moving to the cabinet by the stove to pull out a glass. “You sure will be because I’m going to make you dinner and send you to bed.”

  
Walt had time to open the fridge, survey the contents, and pull a carton of apple juice out of the back before Johnny worked his way to an exhausted response.

  
“What? Walt, no.... no, it’s.... fine,” Johnny managed to get out, taking longer and longer blinks.

  
“It’s ok, Johnny,” Walt said soothingly, grinning as his friend took it as permission to fall asleep at the table, softly snoring into his elbow.

  
Walt shook his head fondly and turned his attention back to the food. The back of the can had microwave and stove top instructions.

  
Walt glanced over his shoulder at the exhausted man drooling onto the kitchen table and decided to take the extra few minutes to make stovetop. Besides, his mom always said it tasted better made on the stove, and he knew better than to argue with her.

  
Walt rummaged quietly through several cabinets before he found the elusive pot, pulling it out with a triumphant grin and setting it on the stovetop before he began his even more challenging search for the can opener.

  
He eventually found it several minutes later in the canister between the flour and the sugar canisters and made a mental note to ask Johnny how in the world he decided where things went in his kitchen and what on earth made him think spice canisters were where can-openers belonged.

  
Chuckling to himself about yet another bizarre, but oddly endearing quirk of John Smith, he finally got to work on actually making the soup.

  
He poured the soup in the pot, turned on the stove, and looked around for something to do while it warmed up.

  
He dubiously eyed the glass of juice he had gotten out earlier, wondering what the chances were of Johnny making it through the meal without spilling the glass in his exhaustion.

  
With a wince, he began yet another search, finally coming up with a box of drinking straws stashed between the baking trays under the oven. Seriously, what was this man’s system?

  
Walt rolled his eyes but pulled out his hard-won prize, dropping it in the drink with a distinct feeling of victory.

  
As the soup began to simmer he made his way over to Johnny, carefully setting the drink out of arm’s reach in case he woke up flailing.

  
“Johnny?” he asked softly, lightly shaking his shoulder.

  
Johnny curled towards physical contact and buried his head further into his arm with a contented sigh.

  
Walt laughed, feeling a wave of affection wash over him.

  
“Johnny?” he called louder, shaking him slightly harder this time, reaching in to roll his head out of the crook of his arm. “Time to wake up, bud.”

  
Johnny moaned in protest, rolling his head into Walt’s hand and accepting it as his new pillow as he fell back to sleep.

  
“Alright, big guy, up and at ‘em,” Walt chuckled, using the fact he was fully supporting the weight of Johnny’s head to his advantage and dragging him into a more upright position.

  
“Johnny, you wakin’ up now?” he asked fondly, lightly tapping Johnny’s cheek.

  
Johnny’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t blink his eyes open until Walt laughingly pat his cheek a few more times.

  
“Walt?” Johnny squinted in confusion.

  
“Yep!” Walt chirped, enjoying this sleepily unguarded version of Johnny Smith.

Johnny sat up a little straighter, blinking hard and looking around his kitchen.

  
“What... what happened?” he asked eventually, evidently unable to fill in the pieces himself.

  
“Well,” Walt started, reaching across the table for the juice, “you had a very, very long day after you put up with some very, very illegal behavior, so I’m cooking you dinner and then you’re going to sleep. For fifty hours, I believe you said.”

  
Johnny blinked at him.

  
“Here,” Walt said affectionately, setting the juice in front of his friend, “drink, your body needs some sugars. Little sips.”

  
He watched Johnny take a small, tentative sip and then another before he stood from the table to finish the soup.

  
He stirred it, turned off the stove, and started yet another hunt through Johnny’s kitchen, this time looking for a bowl and spoon.

  
Ah, of course the bowls were stacked inside the large silver mixing bowl, where else would they be?

  
The spoon was, surprisingly, in the utensils drawer, and the common sense of it took Walt off guard.

  
Shaking off his surprise, he efficiently poured the soup and made his way back over to Johnny, who was looking more alert now that half of his glass of juice was gone.

  
“Here,” Walt announced, setting the bowl and spoon in front of him and sliding into the seat across the table from him. “Eat.”

  
Johnny didn’t need further prompting, slowly reaching out and grabbing the spoon, dragging his exhausted hand to his mouth to take the world’s slowest bite.

  
“Thanks, Walt,” he muttered, beginning the exhausting task of scooping up another spoonful of soup.

  
“No problem, Johnny,” Walt said, watching as he paused the tiring task of eating to take another sip of juice.

  
“Sorry about being a brat earlier,” Johnny said, a few minutes and half a bowl of soup later, sounding embarrassed. “I get kind of grumpy when I’m hungry.”

  
"Johnny, that wasn’t grumpy, that was well deserved frustration, considering what you thought happened,” Walt assured him.

  
“I should have known better,” Johnny shook his head in self-recrimination. He went on before Walt could respond. “When I saw you burst in, I thought you were coming in to save me.”

  
Johnny chuckled and rolled his eyes, but Walt felt a bolt of pain lance through his chest.

  
“But then you said you’d been watching and you picked up where they left off like everything was fine and I just got.... mad. I’m sorry.”

  
"Johnny you have _nothing_ to be sorry for. I’m actually glad you were mad. If you weren’t, it would mean that was the kind of behavior you expected out of me, and I hope I never turn into that person.”

  
Johnny gave a tired snort as his eyes slipped closed for a moment before he pulled them back open with what looked like tremendous effort and finished his last spoonful of the soup.

  
"I don't think you're physically capable of being that person," Johnny assured, his head lolling closer to his chest as the distracting task of eating was completed and his exhaustion reasserted itself.

  
Walt sent him a grateful look as he stood, gathering Johnny’s dishes and setting them in the sink.

  
When Walt turned around Johnny was slowly sliding lower in his chair, nearly asleep again.

  
“Oh, no,” Walt called with a laugh, returning to Johnny’s side to stop his descent and pull him back up in his seat. “Your next stop is your bed, it’ll be way more comfortable than your kitchen table.”

  
Johnny grunted a disagreement and shook his head.

  
“Fine here,” he insisted, moving to lay his head on the table.

  
Walt intercepted him with a grin, pushing him back up, much to Johnny’s displeasure.

  
“Upstairs,” Walt said firmly, grinning at Johnny’s face, which was much more expressive than usual.

  
“Tired,” Johnny muttered petulantly, pouting up at Walt.

  
Walt stared at him, suddenly struck by just how much Johnny looked like JJ as a toddler, refusing to go down for a nap and felt a surge of protectiveness well up in his chest.

  
Johnny used his moment of distraction to make another bid to lay his head down, groaning in frustration when Walt stopped him again with a laugh.

  
“Nope,” Walt insisted. “Up. Come on.”

  
He pulled an unwilling Johnny to his feet, and after a few steps Johnny gave up his resistance and shuffled forward, leaning into the arm Walt had slung across his shoulder.

  
He seemed to wake up a little as he walked, reclaiming some of his weight just in time to overshoot the doorway and clip the corner, knocking one of the pictures off the wall.

  
Walt’s hand shot across him and caught it, steadying Johnny before he moved to hang it back up.

  
He successfully found the nail with the frame the first time, and cautiously pulled his hand back, making sure it wouldn’t fall.

  
It didn’t, and he took a moment to look at the picture, surprised to see it was of himself and JJ in front of the father-son triathlon banner.

  
He cast a glance at Johnny just in time to see his eyes slip shut and he huffed a laugh, reminding himself where they had been headed as he pulled Johnny off the doorframe and down the hallway.

  
“I didn’t know you had that picture,” Walt started, unsure of how to bring up the questions he really wanted to ask.

  
Johnny shrugged, far less restrained than he usually was.

  
“Sarah gave it to me when I said it was a good picture,” he answered easily.

  
“And you hung it up?” Walt asked, torn between amusement and a warm wave of affection.

  
"'Course I hung it up," Johnny said, like it was obvious. "It's got two of my favorite people in one picture."

  
Walt was no longer torn as another tidal wave of warmth crashed over him.

  
“Why not hang up some with you in them?” he asked, trying to sound unaffected.

  
"I don't have my picture taken all that often," Johnny shrugged, letting Walt start to drag him up the stairs. "I don't actually think I have any pictures of you guys with me in them."

  
Walt grimaced, realizing he was right.

  
"Next time you and Bruce come to a game or a concert or something we should get someone to take a family picture for us," Walt said absently, hefting Johnny up the final stair and turning them both towards the bedroom at the end of the hall.

  
When Johnny momentarily froze beside him Walt realized what he had said. He could feel a blush rising in his cheeks, but it was too late to take it back now, and besides, he did mean it even if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

  
"Yeah," Johnny agreed, soft and oddly hesitant, "we could do that."

  
Walt risked furthering his own embarrassment and turned to glance at Johnny, glad he had when he saw his friend blushing brightly and staring at his own shoes as they stumbled down the hall. Johnny was too tired to guard his emotions as closely as he usually did and there was a small, shy smile on his face, his eyes bright and warm and truly happy in a way Walt rarely saw.

  
“Sounds like a plan,” Walt confirmed, passing on the opportunity to tease him. “Now back to our other plan of putting you where you belong.”

  
He nudged the door to Johnny’s room open with his hip and dragged him in to sit on his bed.

  
“You want to change or anything?” Walt asked, looking at the cargo pants and hoodie Johnny was wearing.

  
Johnny shook his head and slowly leaned towards the pillows before Walt stopped him and pulled him back into a sitting position.

  
“Johnny,” Walt chided playfully, laughing as the other man groaned in annoyance, “you didn’t even take your shoes off, bud.”

  
“Don’t care,” Johnny muttered, leaning forward instead and resting his forehead against Walt’s stomach, his body going lax.

  
Walt grinned ruefully down at the blonde head and messed up his hair to give Johnny some warning before he pushed him back and made him support his own weight again.

  
“You’ll care in the morning,” Walt said, squatting down in front of him and pulling one of his friend’s feet forward.

  
“Won’t,” Johnny grunted, watching him through cracked eyelids.

  
“Will too,” Walt argued back, glancing up at him.

  
He needed to stop looking at Johnny when he was this tired and unreserved, because he was struck with yet another image of JJ, watching him sleepily as he tugged his shoes off.

  
“Hey, speaking of putting things where they belong,” he said, tapping Johnny’s leg to wake him up a little, “why do you think it’s acceptable to keep a can opener in a spice canister?”

  
Johnny huffed a laugh, an amused smile slipping onto his face.

  
“Bruce thought a good April Fool’s prank to play on a psychic was to rearrange the kitchen,” he chuckled. “I thought it was funny so I left them. It’s a two for one because I get visions of him giggling triumphantly as he hides things and then he’s there pouting when I find ‘em. It’s hil’ri’s,” he finished with a slur.

  
“Ah,” Walt accepted as he pulled the other shoe off, setting both shoes by the end of the bed where Johnny could find them but wouldn’t trip over them. “That makes more sense, I guess I’ll allow it then.”

  
Johnny’s eyes slipped shut as he chuckled again.

  
“Th’nks,” he muttered.

  
“Anytime,” Walt said, standing back up and wrestling Johnny up enough that he could pull back the covers, then let the other man collapse bonelessly back to the bed.

  
“Come on,” Walt grunted, dragging Johnny into a more comfortable position.

  
“Th’ks W’lt,” Johnny whispered, a second away from being asleep.

  
“You’re welcome, Johnny,” Walt said softly, pulling the blankets up to cover him.

  
Walt stepped back, watching Johnny snore into his pillow fondly. Walt tried to shove down another wave of protective instincts, wondering how he could have ever hated this man.

  
He chuckled quietly as he remembered asking Sarah to keep Johnny away from JJ. Now they _asked_ him to watch their son at least once a month.

  
It worked out well having Johnny as an incredibly eager babysitting service. He loved spending time with JJ, and JJ loved going over to his house to see what elaborate experiment or adventure the man had set up for them. Walt and Sarah got more alone time then they’d had in years, and they could use the money they would have paid a babysitter to add to JJ’s college fund.

  
Walt scoffed, pulling himself out of his ruminations, still amused that a little more than two years ago he had internally considered Johnny his number one enemy, and now he was feeding him and making sure he slept in a bed. Oh how time had changed them.

  
With one last glance, Walt walked out of the room, pulling the door closed quietly behind him.

  
Well, tonight had not gone at all how he’d thought it would. It also held more answers then he’d thought it would, though, so at least there was that.

  
He trudged down the stairs, feeling his own exhaustion set in as he tried to track down where his keys and phone had gotten to.

  
Ah, of course, behind the toaster. How in the world had they ended up there? Maybe they’d slid there when he was rummaging through every conceivable storage container in Johnny’s kitchen?

  
After a moment of contemplation, Walt decided it didn’t matter, rubbing a hand down his face and heading for the door.

  
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, glancing back at the stairs.

  
What if Johnny was still weak and exhausted tomorrow, too? One bowl of soup and a glass of juice couldn’t possibly make up for over a day of missing food.

  
Walt looked back at the door, hearing Sarah and his bed calling his name. But... but... Walt sighed, locking the door and walking back down the hall to sit heavily on the couch in Johnny’s living room.

  
He pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick message to Sarah.

  
‘Hey beautiful, I’m going to crash at Johnny’s tonight. It’s kind of related to a case, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Love you.’

  
With his message sent he looked around the room, wondering where Johnny kept his blankets. If Bruce had pranked the living room too, maybe he should check the fireplace.

  
No, Walt remembered, the last movie night they’d had, Johnny had gotten the Bannerman’s a pile of blankets from the hall closet, so Walt heaved himself to his feet and went to investigate.

  
Sure enough, thick warm blankets. Walt grabbed an armful, then snagged a pillow he saw on one of the lower shelves, closing the door and making his way back to the couch with his bounty.

  
He laid them at one end of the couch, sitting down to pull his boots off. Before he got the second off, his phone vibrated and he grabbed it off the end table, hoping it wasn’t Roscoe calling him back in.

  
It wasn’t, it was Sarah.

  
‘Ok, is everything ok? Love you too.’

He smiled down at his phone and typed out his reply.

  
‘It is now, it’s just a long story. Night.’

  
He snapped his phone shut, set it on the coffee table and collapsed sideways to lay on the couch, pulling the blankets with him and shoving the pillow under his head.

  
He had a thought to set an alarm on his phone, but before he could roll over to grab it, he was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Walt was unfortunately reminded by his bladder, just before dawn, that he had done nothing except take his boots off to get ready for bed. With a groan, Walt rolled himself off the sofa, scowling at the birdsong he heard out the window, and dragged himself to the bathroom.

He made his way back to Johnny’s surprisingly comfortable couch, ready to collapse back into it and go back to sleep when he paused, glancing at the kitchen. If he was up anyway, it might be a good chance to force some more food into Johnny. Or, maybe just some juice, considering it was the break of dawn.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes as he wandered into the kitchen, pouring another tall glass of juice, washing the straw Johnny had used the previous night and dropping it into the cup.

Walt yawned as he rounded the corner of the staircase, wondering how there always seemed to be so many more stairs when he was tired, but eventually made it to the top and turned toward Johnny’s room.

Johnny was in the exact same position Walt had left him in, snoring peacefully into his pillow.

Walt sat heavily in the bed beside him, jostling the nearest shoulder as he set the juice on the bedside table.

“Johnny,” he called in a raspy voice. Walt cleared his throat and repeated the psychic’s name louder.

Johnny moaned, brow furrowing, but didn’t wake up.

“Come on, man,” Walt said, grabbing him under the armpits and pulling him up to a near sitting position, Johnny slumping heavily into his side.

“What?” Johnny asked, sounding sleepy and confused.

“Gotta drink some of this juice,” Walt told him, bringing the straw closer to his mouth.

“Tired,” Johnny informed him, looking mildly bewildered by the appearance of the juice and straw in front of him.

“I know, bud,” Walt grinned, amused by the exhausted resistance. “Drink this and then you can sleep.”

Johnny mulled that over for a long second, but eventually leaned forward and pulled the glass closer to him with a weak grip. Walt kept his hand on the glass, supporting most of the weight, and watched him steadily drink the apple juice.

“Good job, Johnny,” Walt congratulated when he finished the cup, turning slightly to set it on the bedside table.

When he turned back to the psychic, he found the man dozing against his shoulder, apparently deciding Walt made an excellent substitute in the absence of a pillow.

Walt laughed, shrugging his shoulder to wake him up a little and then slid out from under him, supporting his shoulders as Johnny blinked his eyes open in confusion.

“Back to bed,” Walt said, sliding him down and pulling the covers back up. “You only got six hours, go back to sleep.”

Johnny needed no further convincing, closing his eyes and relaxing immediately.

Walt shook his head fondly and made his way back downstairs, laying back on the couch. This time he remembered to set an alarm, closed his phone, and went back to sleep.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Hours later, Johnny wandered blearily into the kitchen as Walt was cooking breakfast.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Walt greeted brightly, flipping the omelet with a flick of his wrist. “Sleep well?”

“I feel like I just came out of hibernation,” Johnny groaned, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table and burying his head in his arms.

Walt laughed. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? It’s March.”

Johnny lifted his head enough to send Walt a tired glare before dropped his head back to his arm again.

“Don’t even joke about that, man,” he grumbled. “I _would_ accidentally start hibernating. It’s probably some weird, uncharted side effect of comas I now have.”

Walt laughed again, shaking his head fondly at Johnny’s dramatics.

“Well, everyone knows that the first thing to do when coming out of hibernation is to eat, so sit up, your food’s up in about thirty seconds.

Johnny grudgingly pulled himself up in his seat, watching Walt through half-lidded eyes. 

“Walt, man, you didn’t have to cook breakfast,” he argued exhaustedly, seemingly only then realizing that Walt had been cooking since Johnny had entered the room.

“Nope,” Walt agreed, sliding the omelet onto a plate he had found stashed inside the crockpot and carrying it over to Johnny with a fork. “But I wanted to, so you’re going to shut up and eat your breakfast.”

He dropped it in front of the psychic with a grin and busied himself re-finding the cups and pouring he and Johnny glasses of juice.

As Walt ate his own omelet, he amused himself watching Johnny's journey to awareness, the man becoming more alert with every bite, finally looking awake enough not to fall asleep at the table again just as he finished his omelet.

"Thanks for everything you did last night," Johnny said quietly, glancing at Walt and then staring at his empty plate, blushing slightly.

"No problem, man," Walt brushed off easily. "That's what friends are for."

Johnny sent him a shy smile, but he didn't seem to know what to say next, so Walt moved them forward before Johnny stalled into awkwardness.

“We’re planning on having a movie night tonight, want to come over?” he offered. "Don't worry about the car, I can drive you home after."

“Thanks,” Johnny said with a nod, “but I might drive separate, I need to make a pit stop first.”

“Pit stop?” Walt asked curiously, gathering his dishes and walking over to put them in the sink.

“Uh, yeah. Off the record, Donnegal tried to pay me, but I didn’t want mob blood money. He insisted he pay me, so I told him I would call it clean and even if he released Nina from servicing him and his men.”

“And he agreed?” Walt asked, looking back in interest.

“Yeah,” Johnny’s face twisted in disgust, “he said he got a deal, he could buy another Nina for less than ten thousand dollars.”

“I hate that man so much,” Walt muttered, trying to push down a wave of anger.

Yeah,” Johnny agreed, “but anyway, Nina doesn’t know yet, I was going to stop by her hospital room and tell her she can go home when she gets out. Maybe we’ll call her mom and ask if she wants to drive down to see her.”

“That’s awesome, man,” Walt said, shooting his friend a fond look. “Maybe we’ll catch you after, then.”

“Oh, count on it,” Johnny agreed.

"Alright," Walt smiled, "Now go tell that girl she's free."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Side note, if you like Merlin or White Collar, check out my baby sister's work [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summer_Meadows/pseuds/Summer_Meadows/works)!


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